musings of a cupboard dweller or two
by i m a g i n e dream b e
Summary: Blaine tries desperately to ignore the creeping sense of claustrophobia, and the notion that a frightening looking hand with a knife is going to start pouncing on him from out of nowhere in a very Psycho-esque fashion. Klaine oneshot, R&R!


**A/N: Klaine is like my addiction right now :D This story has lots of random references, so chances are that, yes, it is a reference to this or that. :) Hope you enjoy this, and don't forget to review before you go.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine. Except Darren Criss. Okay, Darren Criss isn't mine. Yet. :D**

Wes and David, whatever you may say about them, are not serious guys.

Sure, they may act serious, and stiff, and high and mighty, but that's only when they're in front of a crowd of impressionable young teens. Never mind the fact that they're barely a year above most members— the fact that they are the oldest in the group by thirteen hours (David) and one hour (Wes) puts them in charge of the nutters they call Warblers. This makes them weirdly overprotective of Kurt, their newest member, whose age is unknown, but whose slight frame is most _definitely_ not equal to theirs.

Never mind that his personality is big enough to kick both of their asses, as well as the rest of the Warblers if he so desired. He is under their wing. And being in the honeymoon stage of joining Dalton Academy, he feels more than a little flattered at this, and his heart, which is filled with so many people, some more than others, is about to burst. Even Wes's sly remarks and frequent prods to get closer to a certain curly haired, hazel-eyed brunette cannot irritate him yet.

Blaine, who is about a month older than both Wes and David, seems to be frequently disregarded in this matter of authority. Not that he minds, of course. He's never minded blending in with the crowd. In fact, he's like a backseat driver. He doesn't have to face the mob, but he's still the leader of the herd. And anyways, he reasons one day when they ask him why he is so comfortable in a position off the floor, he has more time to think about his day. Besides—

"More like think about certain glasz-eyed brunette." Wes interrupts Blaine with his comment, and David rolls his eyes as if this is the second or third time he's heard this phrase, but admits that Wes has a point.

"Yeah, and then you come and tell us about it—"

"Oh, _Wes_, he's so _brave—_"

"David, his hair is so _perfect_, why isn't _mine_?"

"Not to mention you sang _Baby It's Cold Outside_ with him and were practically undressing him throughout the whole creepy song. Which reminds me, that song was definitely not full of school-appropriate themes."

David is shaking his head wildly, glancing between Wes and Blaine and steadily becoming a little afraid of his friend's darkening face. Wes holds up a finger to Blaine and steps backwards, leaning towards David. "Too much?" he mutters, and David nods. Wes pulls his hand down and pastes an angelic smile on his face, David adding on a little halo over his head.

"Besides," Blaine finally continues while glaring viciously at the pair. "I know that at the end of the day, you'll mess up something elementary for the Warblers, and that you have to grovel at my feet for forgiveness or else be killed by an angry mob."

Blaine, too, has his childish moments. Just not as many as David and Wes.

David elbows Wes, who has opened his mouth furiously, in the side, and nods at Blaine. "We'll stop bothering you now, your Highness, but we shall remain at beck and call." He drops a bell into Blaine's hand, tells him to ring it if he requires their services, and bows the whole way out, tugging Wes after him.

Which is why he's pretty confused, and more than a little annoyed at the fact that he seems to have woken up only a couple hours later, a dull pain on the back of his head, in a broom closet. With the voices of both Wes and David outside the rather shockingly tiny door. So he feels around for a little while, looking for a cord to pull, or a switch, because the light from the cracks in the vent is not enough to fully gather his bearings, and at last, he pulls on a cord dangling from the ceiling and eyes his surroundings, taking a step back.

Which, of course, causes his head to collide rather painfully with a bit of ceiling he was not aware of prior to the _thunk_ that has now resonated throughout the hall outside.

"He's awake!" someone hisses, and he thinks it might be Wes.

"Really." David says sarcastically, proving Blaine right. There's a pause, and a whisper of "Okay, one, two, three—"

"Hello, Blaine." They say together in identically deep voices.

Blaine tries desperately to ignore the creeping sense of claustrophobia, and the notion that a frightening looking hand with a knife is going to start pouncing on him from out of nowhere in a very Psycho-esque fashion. He rolls his eyes, noting that he appears to be underneath a staircase.

He eyes it for a second before snorting loudly. "A cupboard under the stairs. A cupboard under the stairs. Well done."

"Thanks!" Wes gushes, and then repeats in a manly voice, realizing his slip-up. Then there is the distinct sound of a hand slapping a face and an "OW!" in a much less manly voice.

"Guys, what—?" Blaine starts to complain, when a noise from behind him grumbles and he jumps about ten feet in the air— or he would, if he wasn't restrained by a low ceiling which seems only too happy to hit him as many times as it takes for him to remember to be careful.

"Blaine?" someone groans, and he almost jumps again at the sight of a head poking out from some boxes in the corner. Instead he does a strange twitch-half jump, and Kurt watches, mildly appalled. "Are you…okay?"

"I—yeah." Blaine says casually, leaning against the door. Through his curly mane of hair (it's rather early in the morning and he clearly hasn't gotten to style it yet), he hears Wes and David alternatively laughing and bickering.

Kurt raises an eyebrow and stands up, pushing him gently out of the way and pressing his ear against the door before exhaling quickly and exasperatedly.

"You know this was nice until you started shoving me into cupboards!" he shouts, and Blaine recoils a little in fear for his eardrums. His voice still retains some of its musical quality, even as he yells, and Blaine can't help but watch his face change expressions like clouds floating through the sky.

"We were just acting on your desperate orders." Wes winks at David, who promptly wishes that he had a better partner in crime.

A muffled "What?" comes from behind the door, and a sharp "Nothing!" rings out clearly in response.

Wes grins evilly.

"We mean _both_ of you," David says quietly, Wes looking over in mild, shocked approval.

All is silent in the cupboard, and the pair cross their fingers.

"I don't understand." Kurt says finally, expression guarded, still searching Blaine's stricken face.

Blaine has the sudden and inexplicable urge to strangle both Wes and David. And then himself. Is that even possible, he ponders?

"Well, both of you are talking our ears off about each other—"

David claps a hand over Wes's mouth. "Too soon."

Wes changes gears. "So, have you watched Wizards of Waverly Place recently?"

No, Blaine thinks. Strangling oneself is probably not possible.

Kurt is looking more confused by the minute, and is resolutely ignoring the inane topic of Wizards of Waverly Place. "I haven't been talking—"

Wes, who has just been giving everyone an earful of creepy guy-talk about the strange tension between Justin and Alex that no brother and sister should have, switches gears extremely suddenly again. "Yes, you do." He interrupts. "And so does he."

Blaine theorizes some more, musing that strangling oneself requires muscle power, and that muscles require oxygen, therefore…

"You're always talking about each other." David concurs. "Kurt, you have dreamy eyes."

"Um, thanks?" Kurt's face scrunches up adorably, and Blaine closes his eyes, knowing he is frowning profusely. Clearly, strangling himself is not an option for a quick and easy death. He holds his breath instead. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—

"No, no," Wes waves David's comment away with a flick of the hand that Kurt and Blaine are unable to see and pauses for dramatic effect—eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, why isn't he dead yet? Fifteen—"_Blaine_ thinks that."

Blaine nods sharply, then tries to strangle himself. To hell with necessary oxygen.

Kurt, who has turned to him, dreamy eyes sparkling and all, wrestles his hands away from his neck and holds them down. His eyes are shining as he opens his mouth. "Do you really—?"

"And Blaine! You have awesomely touchable hair. And you love each other, so _do something about it._ Before we go mad from your unresolved sexual tensions."

"My hair is quite touchable," Blaine murmurs randomly, his eyes searching Kurt's as their mouths turn up into identical smiles. "And yeah," he answers Kurt's question. "That—" he jerks his head to indicate the last couple sentences. "—is also true."

"Since when?" Kurt breathes, reaching up before he can master his own impulse and tugging on a lock of Blaine's hair. Blaine's eyes fall shut and he leans closer.

"Always." He whispers, and Kurt can barely smile before he's crushed against the door and their mouths are connected. Kurt's hands are tugging on Blaine's hair, and Blaine is erupting in goose bumps as he runs his hands over the planes of Kurt's face, causing Kurt to sigh.

They've waited so very long.

"Okay, bye!" Wes calls out awkwardly, inwardly cringing at the loud noises coming from the cupboard.

"We need to be more careful of acoustics." David mutters, and they meander off.

"Wait!" Blaine shouts, but nobody besides a panicked Kurt hears him. "You forgot to let us out!"

**A/N: Okay, so I hope you liked that. :) I'm pretty much half asleep, so sorry for any mistakes. If you notice any, please let me know. Your reviews are like sunshine, they…are…um, nice. Yeah, there was a metaphor there, but it got lost. While story alerts are great, reviews make me keep writing.**

**Until next time!**

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